The pace quickens.
I am out of breath and questioning myself when
He asks me about the sounds rush decisions seem to make.
It turns my body nervous.
It sends a frozen shiver down my spinal column.
I tap at the silver caps in the back of my mouth until I am
So shaky that I must
carefully taste my words before I speak.
To honor this,
I bite my bottom lip and then the inside of my cheek,
They are the fleshiest parts of my face.
I twirl my tongue against the roof of my mouth
And lose track of time while
thinking about his palms and
The way they could quickly warm my cold nose
If I wanted them to.
I think about his chest
And how the blood pump within it could
Heat up a frigid room with certain ease just by having him breathe into it.
I think about his pockets and
How he stuffs them with the same hands
That hold my heart as if it is a shining torch.
I think about the way he chews his gum
Not only on the Left side of his face,
But switching it in quick intervals between sentences,
From one thought to the next,
From one handsome side to the other.
“Rushing breeds warmth.” I decide.
“Rushing creates the friction that moves the
Fire from flicker to flame.”
It is not haste that comes to mind when we are moving.
I am not stuffed full with
silent desperation or fast-paced shame.
Rushing is not a proven way to preserve time but
It moans with deep urgency and makes sure the
Throat continues to swallow. It is a reminder that
The act of cherishing does not only slow dance.
It can quick step just like the rest of us.
“How do you measure countenance?”
I ask with dry lips and a long-stretched smile.
“What is too early and what is on time when
the sun still decides, after all is said and done, to gracefully rise?”
At this he smiles very slowly.
At this he grabs onto my hand and quickens his stride.
We are at a steady speed now.
Making music with our shoe soles and
Making love by the fireplace in our imaginations.
At this there is no more to decide.
We are patiently awaiting the sunrise.
Rush Decisions × ajthewriter